Knight of the Fireflies
by brightwing11
Summary: When a freak fire destroys Central City orphanage, Flash enlists the League to raise money at a charity carnival. But Batman sees the carnival as less than fun, and the fire as more than coincidence. It's up to him and the Flash to solve the mystery before nightfall-and understand the meaning of childhood in the process.
1. Sparks

Synopsis: When a freak fire destroys Central City orphanage, Flash enlists the League to raise money at a charity carnival. But Batman sees the carnival as less than fun, and the fire as more than coincidence. It's up to him and the Flash to solve the mystery before nightfall-and understand the meaning of childhood in the process.

Acknowledgements: All rights belong to the DC universe. I do not own anything. They have been kind enough to lend me their beloved characters into this story and into my life.

* * *

In the dry summer field at nightfall,

fireflies rise like sparks.

Imagine the presence of ghosts

flickering, the ghosts of young friends,

your father nearest in the distance.

This time they carry no sorrow,

no remorse, their presence is so light.

Childhood comes to you

-from _Fireflies_ by Marilyn Kallet

* * *

_PROLOGUE_

Gotham City. Under the wing of night, the city lay silent as a corpse. The summer air surveyed the lifeless streets with nothing more than a passing glance. On any given night furtive-glancing criminals stalked the mud-stained asphalt well into the dark night.

But tonight was not like any other. Tonight not even the delinquent loitered. The week-long heat wave melted any heists or schemes involving more than staying inside air-conditioned comfort. The moon shone on the stillness, Selene's opaque blanket of sleep unbroken. That is, almost unbroken.

A gargoyle of Gotham church faced the moonlight. Now illuminated, the stony sentinel became a masked outline. His cape wrapped his shoulders in mystery as he watched the final lights below. Windows glowing with electricity doused their faint flickering, one by one. Like fireflies.

He closed his stormy eyes. Memories of summers long ago, summers unspoiled by time and strife. When he and his parents would roam their manor grounds with glass jars, watching the phosphorescence dart in and out, out and in of the darkness that held no terror. Alfred watched from the garden, pruning the blooming roses. Mother's favorites. He could almost see Father's face, could picture his own innocent brow. He was smiling.

_Booooom!_ A mountainous blast sounded somewhere in the west, shockwaves reverberating under his feet. Explosions lit the sky, fizzling into golden streaks. The memory shattered faster than sound, though not faster than he reacted. Running towards the western shadow he jumped into the blackness below. Then nothing. The limp breeze rippled the gargoyle. A _flit! _sounded from belowand away he swung on the grappling line, away from the past and into reality.

The smoking remains of the building sweated blood red debris. Water from hoses hissed into the flames. Police sirens flashed into the lined face of Commissioner Gordon, listening intently to the officer's report.

"… Warehouse, three stories high. Nothin' but ash and broken glass. Neighbors say it's abandoned since before the 90's. Cable guy says all the electricity for three neighborhoods crosses underfoot. A livewire triggered by the heat, apparently."

The commissioner motioned for the lieutenant to go. He would linger until the firemen had quelled the hissing embers.

"Rotten night for an electrical fire," he muttered to himself. "As if the city isn't hot enough."

"That's no electrical fire." A gravelly voice from an alley. "And it's no coincidence."

You'd think after years you'd get used to the masked shadow simply appearing out of thin air. But no. "Is _anything_ to you mere coincidence?"

The dark knight didn't answer right away. Instead he reached inside his utility belt for-a phone. And the newest, most expensive model. He nodded for the old man to take a look at the glowing screen.

"The_ Daily Planet?_ This article hasn't even been run yet. It has tomorrow's date."

"Let's just say I know a guy."

Hmm. Figures. "What's the TLDR version?"

"Metropolis police department recently reported two robberies in the past twenty-four hours. One company specializing in theater special effects. The other in chemicals. Not impressive by themselves, but more than enough to cook up the pyrotechnic display I saw tonight. What would you call that?"

"More than coincidence."

"He wanted it to _look _like faulty wiring and bad luck. Tonight was a practice round."

"An old friend of ours, maybe."

"Or something new."

The commissioner wiped beading sweat from his care-worn brow. As if the city streets needed another explosive-bent maniac. Arkham was full of them already. Both men watched in silence as the flames retreated into blackened ash.

"Funny. Thought I knew every inch of this city," the commissioner admitted. "But I've never noticed this building before."

The gravelly voice paused thoughtful before responding. "When I was a kid, this was an orphanage."

The commissioner turned, but he was too late. Batman, without a trace, had already embraced the waiting darkness.

* * *

_TWO WEEKS LATER_

Another sunny day. A sweet wind blew the ginger locks, tickling his freckled nose. A good day to celebrate being young. The sun was shining, work was over, and the mall had a sale on running shoes. Wally drank it all in. One of those days you want to slow it down. You never know when these moments will speed on by. Although, what the Flash considered slowing it down was still jogging for the rest of us.

"Hi Joe, how's school going? Say hi to your sister for me. Hi Steve, Martin. Little Billy, keep it real."

Wally West waved to his fellow ambling neighbors. They all waved back, even if they didn't recognize him. (After all, they knew the ginger kid by a different name.) It may not be as big as Metropolis or dramatic as Gotham. But out of all the places in the world Flash had been-and he'd zoomed by them all _twice_-Central City was by far the friendliest.

A _thunk _as the news van door slammed. Wally's heart always beat faster than the regular man's, but his pulse still quickened. Behind the door was a gorgeous Asian woman talking into a camera with a serious expression. _Linda Park._ Channel Four's star reporter. The redheaded hero ducked behind a tree, gathering his thoughts. What was the Keystone City reporter doing here? The memories flashed like lightning: The night of the museum. Those frozen minutes in Mirror Master's glass labyrinth. He shuddered. That absolute doubt and fear he so wanted to forget.

Except…Something about her lovely almond eyes wouldn't let him forget. Not entirely. How holding her tight, they faced uncertainty and escaped. Together. Whatever that meant.

Maybe this was a chance to find out.

He stood, resolute, and immediately tripped. "Man," he huffed. "For someone who can run hours on end and come out of the freaking speed force alive, why does the thought of talking with a pretty girl make me weak at the knees?"

Sigh. A little reinforcements couldn't hurt at a time like this.

* * *

The blonde ran until there was nowhere left to go, cornered against the fallen trees too high to climb. The howling man circled her petite form. A situation when reinforcements sure would be nice.

Saliva dripped from his fangs, half wolf, half human, breathing in her intoxicating sweet scent. After retrieving the theft in her gloved hand, maybe master Cadmus would let him have that juicy neck.

"Give me the vial," the beast gargled.

The howler expected the little blonde to whimper, beg, plead. Instead she did the last thing his hound-spliced mind expected.

She winked. "You didn't say please."

Her gloved fist threw the coveted glass into the trees. A voice and _twang _sounded from behind. But the howler's reflexes were too good. He caught the green-tinted projectile between mutated clawed arms.

"Stupid girl."

The arrow shaft clicked twice. The stupid girl smiled sweetly before delivering a mighty kick to the ugly head, shoving the stunned beast into the wooded corner. Already the arrow was releasing what the blonde recognized as sleeping gas. The monstrous hound blinked once, twice. And slumped to the ground.

"Just like I said, Ollie. Piece of cake."

A blonde, bearded man emerged from the foliage above. "Miss me?"

Black Canary rolled her eyes. "Let's get this back to the Watchtower so Mr. Terrific can figure out what's going on."

Green Arrow retrieved the shaft from the beast's claws. "Mutant experiments. Almost feel sorry for them."

"Emphasis on _almost_."

The groggy beast rolled over, raking the jagged claws towards the bearded mask.

"Look out-"

Caught off guard, there was no more time to draw an arrow-_wham._ Slump. Black Canary's side kick connected with the slobbering jaw. No doubt about his unconscious state now.

"Thanks, I owe you one."

"Buy me dinner and I'll call it even." Black Canary winked, tossing her blonde locks.

"Ta-da!" preceded Booster Gold levitating out of the verdant leaves, Skeets close in tow proffering the troublesome vial. "Sorry guys, got a little lost back there. What'd I miss?"

* * *

Linda continued the news report: "The police conclude no one was inside the theater when it exploded, but still the mystery remains. Authorities are linking the theater break-in to a similar act in my own Keystone City."

Wally wasn't exactly listening to anything but his beating heart. All he could think was _Wow. She's even gorgeous when she's frowning._

"…If any of you have information, please call in. This is Linda Park, Channel Four news."

Now or never. The camerawoman was taking a lunch break under a tree. Linda didn't notice a red streak as she loaded her microphone into the van.

"Hi Linda."

She turned to the voice beside her. A guy about her age with red hair and freckles just stood there, seemingly out of nowhere.

The stranger, wearing a Batman T-shirt, sweatpants, and red running sneakers didn't look all that remarkable. But still. Something about this guy seemed familiar. And what a nice smile.

"Hi," she replied. "Have we met?"

"As a matter of fact, you interviewed me at the Flash museum opening night."

"That must be it."

"My uh, good looks musta caught your eye in the crowd." The redhead mentally face-palmed himself. So cheesy.

"Guess so."

Awkward pause. Just keep it cool. Say something intelligent.

"I'm West. I mean Wally. The first name is my last name. Or-I mean-if you like West better-" He shrugged, proffering a handshake, half ready to flee as fast as he could, speed force or no. "Just Wally." The boy couldn't help blushing, thinking _I bet Green Arrow would have made some great moves about now._

The girl smiled, encouraging. "Maybe on tv I'm a brave reporter, but right now I'm just Linda. Nice to meet you. Officially, that is. Hey!" Linda grabbed Wally's surprisingly strong wrist. _Was she holding his hand already?!_ thought Wally. _What did I do for her to realize she can't live without me_?

"That is a legit watch."

"Oh."

The scarlet, sleek steel wristband circled a white face, lightning bolts pointing the time.

"Where'd you get it? Metropolis mall?"

"Well, it's sort of a prototype. One-of-a-kind."

"Oh."

Wally shrugged. "I know a guy."

"That is so cool. I mean-yeah." Linda let go, blushing, just realizing their hands were touching. "My uh, _friend_ loves the Flash."

She tried to appear nonchalant. He grinned, trying not to blush.

"Pretty Flash-y, huh?"

"Bet time just _flashes_ by so fast."

No way. This girl was smart _and _punny.

"Haha! What do you call a superhero bug in your eye?"

"What?"

"An eye-Flash."

The two stared at each other. Then burst out laughing.

Meanwhile, Marla the camerawoman shook her head in shame, continuing to watch the live-action soap opera chewing a sandwich. Dinner _and _a show.

"So, when exactly did you become part of the Flash mob?"

"The what?"

"You know, become a Flash fan. It's pretty obvious, even for me. And that's saying something."

Linda let out an exasperated sigh. "That's the problem."

"So you're a Scarlet Speedster fan. A lotta people are."

"Exactly."

"I don't follow."

"I'm supposed to be a cynical journalist for crying out loud. I'm not supposed to buy into the 'heroic public icon' gimmick. Granted it works for Lois and Lane and Superman-but Flash is different! He's so arrogant, vain, conceited- "

"Good-looking?"

Linda looked pained. "Very."

It took everything in Wally not to smile. "So?"

"That night. At the museum. You wouldn't have been there, the police evacuated the place. One of the rogues trapped Flash and I in some sort of glass prison. Didn't think we'd make it out. Kept thinking Death by mirrors?! How lame does _that _sound on a gravestone."

Funny. Wally remembered thinking something very similar. "Were you afraid?"

Linda's slim fingers brushed a stray lock out of her almond eyes so deep in thought. "Out of my mind. Never felt so vulnerable or small. Like I'd let Flash down somehow." She snapped back into reality. "How embarrassing, right?"

Wally didn't look embarrassed or ashamed. Cocking his head to a pensive angle, talking out loud, but more to himself. "Maybe he felt the same way. Only was too afraid to let _you_ down."

"You really think so?"

"Er, the dude's only human. I mean, assuming he's not from Krypton-which I hear is an obscure alien planet or something."

Linda exhaled shaking her head, a soft chuckle escaping. "Wow. I've never told anyone about what happened. And here I am, baring my soul after meeting you officially 3.5 minutes ago. Like a total creeper."

To this Wally tried his best not to burst out laughing. He'd _met_ the Creeper-unfortunately-and this pretty lady was nowhere close.

"No worries. I've known half my Facebook friends for less time. You can say anything and I promise-on my honor as a Ginger-to withhold judgment of creeper-ism."

Linda couldn't help but laugh at the mocking boy scout salute. Laughter subsiding, Linda's almond eyes met his green. This guy seemed different from the usual tall, dark and handsome tool. He seemed genuinely _nice_.

"For what it's worth Wally West, you're a really good listener."

A slight blush lit the boy's cheeks. "Maybe we can talk again?"

"I'd like that."

Still. Something was nagging at the back of Linda's head. That voice…Had she interviewed him in the crowd that night? No way she'd forget that red hair…

"Something about you seems less like a stranger, and more like…" What was it? She inched closer to his face, now turning serious. "Like…"

Whatever Linda was going to say was cut off by a look of horror.

"Gee, is my breath that bad?"Wally wondered out loud. The reporter pointed wordlessly down the street into the distance. Trails of smoke twisted like an ominous cackle. Flames licking out the building almost froze her blood.

"Oh my gosh. Call 911! Uh, Wally?"

The mysterious ginger kid was nowhere in sight. Linda was alone. That is, except for a scarlet watch, left atop the van bumper. The lightning time ticking, speeding away.

* * *

Mrs. Mercer was guiding the children out the front door by the time the Flash arrived at the Central City orphanage.

"Mrs. Mercer, is this everyone?"

"Yes," she coughed.

"Come on kids, we're gonna take a field trip."

In the time it took the neighbors to come out their front door and gawk, Flash had zoomed every child across the street away from the smoke, gathering them at the public park. "I'll be back, just hang tight."

Flash rushed to the site, running faster and faster around the flames. Within seconds the terrifying flames paused, then hushed into the vacuum of stillness. Sounds of a fire truck sounded in the distance.

The middle-aged caretaker sniffled. "I was only making French fries for lunch. The grease spilled, caught fire, and th-then it was everywhere."

"It was an accident, Mrs. Mercer. Shhh."

"What about th-the children? They deserve m-more than this," gesturing to the ashes of what remained.

A little voice at Flash's elbow sniffled.

"Mr. Flash?" Ashes smudged Lucy's face. "Is it gonna be okay?"

Glancing at the smoldering ashes across the street, Wally West didn't know what to say. But ten sets of wondering eyes weren't looking at him.

It was then the idea came.


	2. Flashpoint

Hawkgirl burst into the conference room in, fists raised in agitation. "Okay, what's the big emergency?"

The three other senior members in the room looked up from their respective chairs around the conference table. Green Lantern was deep in thought, not paying attention. J'onn waited, imperceptible as usual. Wonder Woman turned her stately head in curiosity. "Emergency?"

"Wally messaged me just now, said the situation was critical and to meet in the conference room. So what's the deal-a lead on Lex Luthor's whereabouts? Vandal Savage coup?"

Lantern looked up. "The kid told me he was in trouble with the law."

"I was with J'onn on monitor duty, Wally told us it was important to discuss national security," Wonder Woman added.

"Hey everyone!" Superman's cheerful, booming voice approached. "What's the surprise?" No one responded. "You did get the message, right?"

J'onn looked thoughtful. "Hmm. It appears we have all been slightly misled."

"So…no imminent butt-kicking?" Hawkgirl looked a little disappointed.

"No surprise?" Superman looked even more so.

Lantern narrowed his glowing emerald eyes. "Wait until Wally gets here. I came all the way from deep space for this."

A red blur entered the conference room in a flurry.

"Sorry I'm late. Printer was out of ink-hey!"

A giant green hand held Flash suspended, his legs still running in midair. "Time out track star."

"GL buddy, what's the deal?"

"Uh, you lied to us!" Hawkgirl yelled.

"Technically he hinted, we inferred," J-onn added.

"When you message me 'It's life or death' and hang up all of a sudden, I assume it actually _is_!"

"Using our precious time to-"

"Hold on." Superman motioned for Lantern to calm down, flying the Flash to the ground. "I'm sure there's an explanation for the, uh, mutual misunderstanding. Right?"

"Thank you Supes." Flash straightened his cowl. "Now if you let me explain, you will count this meeting as an enlightening experience."

* * *

The ancient cash register sputtered a receipt. The pawnbroker, bored, watched the client light the third cigarette in a five minute transaction. Hardly an enlightening conversation. The lighter reflected red in the client's eyes. Slim rolled his. If this guy's high turtleneck and leather jacket didn't scream rich and privileged, his cigarettes did. Only yuppies smoked menthol.

"Here ya go. Sorry I couldn't a gotcha more, but you see these ain't in high demand since it's, uh..."

"…Damaged."

The client gestured to the carousel figurine, the music box inside dead and soulless.

"You said it, not me."

"Parents gave it to me when I was a kid."

"What a shame," Slim muttered. The receipt was nearly printed. Good. How he hated pleasant chit chat.

* * *

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow in query. "Shouldn't we wait for Bruce?"

* * *

The client sighed. "One must move on. Besides-they won't even notice it's gone."

* * *

Flash coughed. "Bats said if no one's bleeding, mortally wounded, dead, or surrounded by robots it's not an emergency and he's busy."

* * *

"Nice doin' business with ya." Slim waved the man outta the store, watched him stroll down the street, the smoke tailing behind. "Sucker." The yuppie accepted fifteen bucks for some broken out music box. On the outside? A gold leafed beauty. He'd sell it downtown for much more than he paid. These richie riches may got money to blow, but they sure don't know their own treasures.

Slim looked at this watch. There were several watches in the display case before him, but his own Rolex was the only one that actually worked. Not that his _real_ clients cared.

* * *

"Probably threatening some slimy crime lord right now," Hawkgirl huffed. "Lucky."

* * *

The entrance doorbell rang. Slim looked up, running dirty fingernails through greasy hair, smiling at an attempt at charm.

* * *

Green Lantern sighed. "Got a bad feeling about this already…"

* * *

The pawnshop door swung through silent air.

"How can I help y-"

No one was there.

"Hello? Eddie?"

At least, not that he could see.

The overhead lights shorted out, cloaking the musty air in darkness.

"Who's there?"

The leaking light from unwashed windows cast the room in eerie shadow, a reddish glow from the door's sign reading OPEN.

A swoosh. The sign blinked once and expired.

"Looks like you're closing early tonight."

A figure hulked in the corner. A darkness with piercing eyes.

"Business has been good."

Slim had to try hard to control the tremor in his voice.

"N-not really Batm-man."

"The tv says differently."

Channel Four's icon shrieked from the staticky television screen. Linda Park's voice buzzed in and out.

"…The police conclude no one was inside the theater when it exploded, but still the mystery remains. Authorities are linking the theater break-in to a similar act in my own Keystone City…"

_Crash._ The tv rained electric sparks, broken by the figure's fist. Batman advanced, the vampiric cape draping the shoulders lurching closer.

"You break it you buy it." Slim held steady, gripping a nearby armchair for balance. Ratty and missing chunks of upholstery, the disturbed dust floated in the soiled window light. "Whatta ya want?"

Batman didn't respond at first. If Slim could see his eyes underneath the glowing lenses, he would have noticed the dark knight studying a small bookshelf in the corner. Antique volumes of poetry.

"I said whatta ya want?"

"I little enlightenment."

"Don't got nothin' to do with no fires. I'm an honest to gosh citizen a this city."

"Believe that when I see it. A fence like you certainly isn't the brains and certainly isn't in it for charity. Who's paying you for the jobs."

"Mark. Steve. Can't say."

"Come on, the chemicals and pyrotechnics didn't heist themselves. Eddie Shanks and the rest say business is rough with you stealing all the competition."

"You trust the word of a no good thief like him?"

"Every one of you superstitious cowards are the same. Turn up the heat…"

Batman cracked his knuckles.

"…and the truth comes out."

The cloaked Bat just stood there, all silent. Didn't even flip a table. Somehow the silence was even scarier.

"A name. Now."

"Rumpelstiltskin."

Slim took exactly three seconds to pull the gun from it hiding place inside the chair's stuffing. In a quarter of that time the dark knight punched the gun away, knocking the pawnbroker onto his knees.

"Hiding the gun in the armchair trick? Please. It's been done."

"Ow! My arm."

Batman grabbed the man's slimy wrist, watch flashing, helpless. "Don't worry, it' not broken. Yet."

"Okay okay. Anything."

"A guy like you-however gutless-plays it smart. Meets in person. Tell me where."

"The old construction site on the corner of Fifth and Z street. Happy?"

"Anything else you'd like to share with the class?"

"OW!" Slim shut his eyes, gritting his unbrushed teeth. "The guy calls hisself Mark McFly."

His wrist was free. Slim slowly opened his eyes. He was alone. The OPEN sign on the door sputtered to life, the room once again glowing red.

* * *

"…So they split the kids into Metropolis and Gotham children's centers until a new one can be built in Central City. (Hence the emergency, Hawkgirl.) The mayor said he'd do all he could, but construction won't be anytime soon with the legal obstacles. When I said trouble with the law GL, I meant now all the kids gotta make do with tight accommodations and budgets more in the red than my super suit."

GL squinted. " 'National security' threat, huh?"

"The situation is within this nation and we are making it secure."

Hawkgirl shrugged. "The boy does have a point. Sort of."

"There must be more we can do," Wonder Woman proffered. "I'm sure Bruce wouldn't mind making a generous donation."

Superman nodded in agreement. "If the construction crew needs a hand, sign me up. Don't know much about city buildings, but I mighta helped Pa build a barn or two back in Smallville."

Lantern's lip twitched in amusement. Sometimes he forgot the mightiest hero on earth was such a farm boy.

"Not that I'm not ready to help in any way I can, but was an emergency Watchtower meeting that necessary?" Hawkgirl asked.

"Ya caught my alterior motives red-handed. Literally. For a decision this big, I needed you all here." Flash zoomed around the room, handing each member a neon-colored flyer. The advertisements featured a hand-drawn stick figure with a huge smiley face surrounded by stars and lightning bolts. The headline read **_Tri-State Charity Carnival! Help raise money! This weekend! With the Super Friends!_**

"Ta-da! Please peruse your carefully made visual aids."

J'onn spoke up. "Forgive me, but I do not understand the meaning of these colorful blotches."

"Those are drawings J'onn. Of us."

Everyone in the room just stared. Superman turned his paper upside down, trying hard to decipher the squiggles and blobs as anything remotely super, his eight kinds of vision of no help. Flash sighed in exasperation, pointing.

"That's you flying, Big Guy-and GL floating in cosmic green glowing stuff-"

"That _leprechaun_ is supposed to be me?"

"Maybe it's _abstract_ art…"

"Why are there so many stars?"

"For dramatic effect. Duh."

Superman cleared his throat. "If we could get back to business, please." He paused. "And for the record, my chin is not _that_ big."

"As I was saying, a project this super awesome needs super help. The Tri-State orphanages are holding a combined carnival so the kids can have a good time, and to help raise money. But more importantly, to get the community involved, helping its youngest members. And what better way than to lead by example, right Big Guy?"

Superman spoke up. "So by 'super friends'…you mean…"

"Us. As in all of us. The Justice League."

This sank in.

"The mayor said they are short on funding and workers, right? So picture this: all fifty some odd leaguers volunteer to run the carnival for the day. Volunteering to take pictures with the kids, run the games, rides, kissing booth, not to mention the cotton candy and boy it's gonna be so much fun!" Flash waited for a response. "Well?"

Superman didn't quite know what to say; Hawkgirl didn't quite know what a carnival was; J'onn was deep in thought; and Lantern's mouth was open in disbelief. Wonder Woman, always the diplomat, broke the silence.

"This matter requires further discussion."

Lantern spoke up. "What's to discuss? We shouldn't do it."

Flash's enthusiasm melted. "What? GL, think about it. I posted this carnival on my Facebook page an hour ago and already two thousand likes—"

"That's great, but think of the logistics."

"—Ten thousand pledges to donate or help with projects in the near future, not to mention my Twitter followers—"

"Twitter? Is that like a bird or something?" Hawkgirl wondered.

"Plus…I kind of already promised the mayor we would."

Superman and Wonder Woman exchanged glances. "Wally, perhaps you shouldn't have jumped the gun—"

Lantern was not as subtle in his surprise. "Are you out of your _ginger mind?_"

"But GL—"

"But nothing. Think about the risks! Every discount rogue in a tiff could show up, putting all those civilians in harm's way. Not to mention the lack of global monitoring, the liabilities—"

"Now John, the children—"

"Clark, it's their safety that concerns me—"

"We should have waited for Bruce—"

"John has a point—"

A red blur and lightning bolt circled the room, striking through the arguing. The Scarlet Speedster now stood on the table, flickering with the electric current. His gloved hand pulled off the iconic cowl, revealing the freckly face underneath, innocent green eyes looking to his seniors one by one.

"Those kids at the orphanage, they lost their home, parents, everything. They looked me right in the eye and asked—not Wally West, but the Flash—if it would be okay. Now that simple kid from Nebraska can't do much, but that Flash—" Here he adjusted the scarlet cowl, eyes glowing once again— "That hero they trust and believe in—the same hero you are—he looked them straight in the eye and promised it would all be okay. That he would do everything he could to make it right." The scarlet head hung in humility. "What's the use of a power ring, mind powers, wings, super strength, immortality, lightning speed—what's the use of any of it if we stand by and do nothing."

Superman nodded. "Let's take a vote. I'm with Wally on this."

J'onn opened his glowing Martian eyes. "In honor of my own children, I will do all I can."

For a moment, Wonder Woman held the Martian's hand. She too was without a family. "And I."

Hawkgirl was next. "Still don't know what a carnival is…but I'm in. This is actually a brilliant idea."

Flash winked. "I have my moments."

All eyes were on Lantern. "There could be risks."

Superman smiled. "Then who better to handle security than a member of the Green Lantern corps."

Sigh. Sometimes GL hated how the Big Guy was impossible to hate.

"Fine."

"If there isn't anything else, meeting adjourned."

"Great! I have sign-up sheets here—"

"One more thing." Lantern raised an eyebrow, almost cracking a smile. "The 'super friends'? Seriously?"

"Come on, the name is significantly more kid-friendly than Justice League."

"And significantly less dignified," Hawkgirl quipped.

"Speaking of which…" Flash employed his biggest, used-car-salesman-grin. "Shayera, you're a beautiful dame. You'd be perfect for the kissing booth. And J'onn! What are your thoughts on goats?..."

With Flash and the other members occupied, Wonder Woman pulled Superman aside.

"I've been meaning to talk you." The Amazon used a low whisper only audible to one with super hearing. "It's about Bruce. I'm worried."

"I'm sure Flash will fill him in on the details."

"Not about that." She pulled him to the farthest corner of the room. "I thought his absence was all coincidence, but I've asked around. No one in the League has seen him for months."

"He's a part-timer at best, you know that."

"Even Alfred hasn't seen much if him."

"Coincidence."

The Amazon raised her eyebrow in significance. "Clark—this weekend is the year mark."

The big Kryptonian froze.

"I didn't realize…"

"Most have forgotten."

"But not you."

"Nor Bruce. At first he couldn't stop working. Signed up for every mission, even with the JLI. I hoped with time Hera would grant him the peace he desires..."

Superman pulled her in a silent embrace. The closest of friends understand even the unspoken.

"Sometimes I forget he's not invulnerable."

"Give him time, Diana. He'll come back when he's ready."

Over her friend's broad back, she stared at the chair across the room, a bat emblem etched on the metal. How cold and empty, how alone it seemed.

* * *

His fingers shook as he waited. Once, twice the ringtone buzzed through the staticky reception of the pawnshop. Bleary-eyed from the booze and late hour, Slim squinted at his watch. Not a single dishonest, gangbanging, thieving, murderous customer all night. Which left his other client.

A voice responded from the other end of the cell phone.

"A bit late for business calls."

Slim poured himself another shot, trying not to spill. "Well sir, you know what they say, Gotham never sleeps. Say, about the job tonight. Got a top-a-the line guy, real profesh. Thing is for someone classy as him, I'm chargin' double.

"We agreed on a price."

"Mama taught me to roll with inflation, man. Mama didn't raise no fool."

"I'm the best in the business. Knock the socks offa Eddie Shanks.

A pause. "Too bad."

"Fine, go to Shanks. I'll just be collectin' the last job's salary. And don't think about crossin' me man, I got connections no newb likes you could ever dream. "

A moment of silence. "I used to work in the theater business. Seen everyone from Affleck to Bale. Know what I learned? How to spot the real actors. See, they hide the truth. Manipulate it. Take advantage of disbelief."

Slim took a second to mull that over. These clients could be so freaking cryptic.

"Okay then. Now about the money—"

"Relax, I never miss a payment."

A delighted chuckle sounded from the other side of the phone. The liquor bottle slipped, shattering on the already-stained floor. Damn.

"What's so funny."

A faint tune. Twisted, warped notes sounded in the background. Slim wheeled around. That melody. Somewhere in the shop.

"Of course, you can't afford to lose a job like tonight. Bats are quite bad for business."

Slim took an unsteady step. The music, somewhere around the counter. He gulped.

"Got no idea what ya mean."

"Really."

"It was Eddie, huh?" The alcohol-influenced voice now had an edge of panic. "Lousy snitch. Batsy came in, threw a tv, I ain't told him nothing, honest."

"Really."

"Now I ain't done ya wrong before, huh? With the jobs and all? No better work in all Gotham or Bludhaven. Come on you gotta lemme in the job."

The music was louder, faster. Slim pushed the faceless watches, past the broken silver. Where was it coming from?

"You've played your part well, dear boy."

There it was: the music box. Flickering back to life.

"The Batman had one thing straight."

Slim reached for the box. Just as the music stopped.

"Turn up the heat…"

The explosion blinded the night.

"…and the truth comes out."

The man leaned back in the chair, eyes fixed on the surveillance video. Too far away to feel the cleansing burn, he watched in muted ecstasy. The licking flames twisted, roared with malice. Reflected in the man's eyes, his cigar smoke curled, dancing in approval.


	3. Limelight

This being human is a guest house.  
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,  
some momentary awareness comes  
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome them all in

-from _The Guest House_ by Rumi

* * *

Supergirl sipped an empty juice box, fingertips drumming in boredom. He was late again. The cafeteria was emptier than usual, allowing her to see the absence of her tall cousin (even without x-ray vision).

"You know, this is the first time you've taken me out to lunch in forever." Black Canary walked by with Green Arrow, taking a seat across the room from the Kryptonian girl.

The green-figured man cocked an eyebrow. "What about last week? Best lobster joint in Star City."

"The crab cakes were nice. Right before Merlyn attempted to assassinate the president."

"Hmmm. The Chinese place?"

"Technically, that was a stakeout on Roulette."

"Yeah, but the chow mein was amazing."

"And before that Club Verdant…"

"That's right, drug bust next door. What about the sushi bar?"

"Saved the world from an alien invasion."

"Was that after Deadshot's birthday party?"

"Before."

"Although, I did almost make it back in time for cake."

The blonde woman winked. "Emphasis on almost."

Arrow barked a laugh. "I swear the villains are out to get my love life."

The woman cocked her head, smiling ever so slightly. "Did you say love?"

The man almost choked mid-bite. "I mean, _romantic_ life…Wow, this is delicious cordon bleu."

"Right." The blonde tried not to smile. "Gotta admit Ollie, this is a _romantic_ spot. Floating millions of miles above the earth."

Arrow's course battle-scarred hand reached for her slight gloved hand under the table. "And what a great location, Dinah. No villains—hopefully—to interrupt dessert this time."

Supergirl covered her ears. Times like this, she wished she did not have superhearing. Kisses sounded so gross.

A young man in gold armor and olive-skinned woman walked by, followed closely by a blue-clad man whistling a little too innocently.

Fire shook her head. "…Can't believe you took J'onn's oreos, Booster."

"Hey, Ted did it. I just ate them."

A red blur halted the Brazilian babe. "Fire, you heard about the carnival this weekend? Volunteer here."

"Ooh, sign me up. My country is all about carnival."

Booster looked nonplussed. "Pass."

"Still need volunteers for the kissing booth."

Blue Beetle looked up. "In that case, where do I sign?"

Flash zoomed across the room to the now-interrupted couple.

"Ollie, we still need someone to run the darts game. Seeing as you're the best marksman around. Besides that Hawk guy."

"That guy isn't even real. _The Avengers_ is just a movie."

"Right. Now you're probably gonna try and convince me comics aren't real, either."

Ollie wanted to object, but felt like arguing with the Flash would be like arguing with an ADHD diagnosed twelve year-old. Gotta pick your battles. "Darts sound fun."

"Sign me up, too."

"Actually Canary, what about the kissing booth?"

Canary met Arrow's worried look. "Sorry Flash, I'm taken." She winked.

Flash shrugged. "Too bad."

Arrow grinned. "Not really."

Across the room, a familiar red cape and S insignia swooshed. Kara's face brightened. "Kal! About time—"

"Sorry Kara, business first."

"Oh. Okay."

Superman flipped through a clipboard, stopping in front of the Flash. "Good news from the office. My editor agreed to run advertisements all this week. Lois got some camera crew friends in Central, Star, and Gotham City to come down on Saturday."

"You rock Big Guy." Flash scratched his chin. "Who's Lois?"

"Uh…she's just a friend." You didn't have to be Superman to catch Booster's dry remark under his breath _"That's not what the history books say."_

"Anyway…" Blushing, Superman hefted a stack of flyers.

"No way! These look legit."

"Fresh off the press, courtesy of the _Daily Planet_."

"Dude, there's enough for like every citizen of the Tri-State area."

"All we need is someone to pass 'em out."

Flash scoffed. "Done and done. Hey Booster, you up for some paper deliveries later?"

"Depends. Me and Ted might be busy."

"I'll bring a bag of oreos."

Some offers can't be refused. "Deal."

"O que as crianças," Fire muttered to herself.

Finishing with shift times and general logistics, Superman took his leave, sitting down next to his young cousin. "Thanks for waiting."

"Long day?" Supergirl asked.

"It will be. Orion requested J'onn and I for a mission. Looking forward to Apokolips _again_." Supergirl recognized the sarcasm in his tone. Sarcasm being one of the first concepts of earth culture the Kryptonian girl learned.

"Amazing you have a minute to spare."

"For you? _And _pudding? There's always extra time."

The girl's smile bright returned. "Good thing I saved the last one."

"You always were my favorite cousin."

"I'm your _only _cousin."

Superman patted her head in affection. "Same thing."

The girl thought a moment. "Kal?"

"Mph," her older cousin responded, mouth filled with chocolate.

"What's a 'carnival'?"

The big man thought of the old days in Smallville. His eyes glistened with nostalgia. "It's a place to play games and win prizes. I mostly went to eat candy and have fun. Lots of families go together."

"Oooh, like the Kryptonian tri-annual festivals in Kandor!"

A beep sounded. Both knew the League earpiece signal well. The girl sighed. "If anyone can save the world, you can."

"Sorry to cut lunch short."

"Wait—this festival, are you going?"

"Of course. Superman promised four cities he would." He stood up, using that authoritative tone for the earpiece comlink. "Roger that, J'onn, see you in the hangar."

"Kal, maybe we could go together."

"Sure. Gotta go, Kara." With a blur he was gone, leaving his cousin alone.

"Together," the girl repeated to no one.

"…Like a family."

Supergirl stirred the now-cold soup. The days on Krypton were long gone. Maybe she hoped for too much.

* * *

Fog. Strange for so late in the summer, thought Alfred. _Clip._ The foggy tendrils advanced slow and deliberate, hovering ghostlike over the grounds of Wayne Manor, inching like cat's feet up the cobbled stones of the walkway. _Clip. _Alfred, in his usual calm demeanor, placed the newly clipped marble-white roses in the worn basket. After checking the Batcave every hour and cleaning the mansion spotless (twice), the garden and its lonesome blossoms provided him with company.

Still. His steady exterior reflected the professionalism of one in the domestic service, yet the creased furrow betrayed his worry. Two weeks and nothing. Even when besieged in the terrorist nation of Bialya with the JLI, the trusted butler had less worries for his charge. "At least there were news reports," he muttered. _Clip._ Not like recently. No voicemails. Not even a cough on the comlink. Sigh. Master Bruce never did consider the courtesy call a mark of good manners.

Wiping his forehead, Alfred looked over the gray veranda. A lifetime of memories in so small a place. He could clearly see Mr. Thomas sitting just there, reading his great poetry volumes aloud, lovely Martha listening to the soft baritone. _Clip._ She walked the grounds every morning, sometimes pausing to pray. _Clip._ Master Bruce read adventure books among the thorny castles. _Clip._ The young, happy family catching fireflies. _Clip._

The butler knelt down, reaching for the lowest buds. Stopped. Hesitated a long moment, touching the jagged cuts across the stems. Feeling the wet spatterings. Blood. Recent. He thought quickly, making sure. Of course. Throwing the gardening apron to the ground, Alfred hurried down the manor lawn, out of sight. Feet swallowed in the billowing veil as he hurried, praying he wasn't too late. Behind lay the roses: Someone else had recently cut them. And that someone could only be one person.

He knew exactly where that person would be.

* * *

"Ollie!" Green Arrow looked up at the hopeful grin of the Flash. "I need some help."

"I already signed up for the darts game, remember?" Arrow said.

"Not about that. It's, um…" he lowered his voice. "See, there's this girl I kinda want to impress."

Canary thought to herself _This I gotta hear…_

"Fire and Ice say you're the smoothest cat around. A regular playboy billionaire."

"Billionaire, yes. Playboy, not so much."

"Don't be modest, man. Lots of leaguer chicks dig you."

Canary's eyes narrowed. "Chicks? As in plural?"

"Don't know what he's talking about."

_Bam._ Ow! Flash flinched. A gig green boot kicked him under the table. Arrow shrugged, trying to give his fellow male a pointed look. Flash continued, oblivious. "Anyway, Fire totally worships the ground you walk on." From the next table Fire sent a little wave their way. "Quite the achievement, seeing as she's _Brazilian_."

Arrow's voice had an edge of desperation. "Can we talk about this later?"

"No, please." Canary tossed her hair. And not in a flirtatious way. "Continue."

"And you don't even have super powers! Like a boss. Come on, what's your secret? Ice said she had a great time last weekend."

Canary shoved her tray onto the ground. "Think I'll skip dessert."

"Okay—I may have gone out with other leaguers—in the past—"

Canary was already making her way across the room.

"Dinah—wait—"

"Let GO!" Canary's sonic scream pushed Arrow to the ground, winding him. The ear-splitting shrieks followed Canary out the double doors, leaving the cafeteria and its occupants. Booster broke the silence, nudging Fire. "As your century says in the common vernacular—Awkward."

"So—you two are—together?" blurted Flash, finally getting it.

"Not anymore."

"Never would've guessed with that hat," Blue Beetle muttered.

"Um, Ollie?"

The League as a whole did not condone killing. But the way Green Arrow was glaring, Flash knew he'd better make like lightning. Just in case.

* * *

The lone figure continued to stare. The long Burbury coat and expensive suit exuded rich billionaire socialite the city believed him to be. But look closely, and you'll see something intimidating. Indescribably sad. Hands in pocket, Bruce watched the fog swirl around the ancestral crypt, name plates of relatives from centuries ago. Sorrows buried alive.

_Thomas Wayne. Martha Wayne. Beloved parents. Death, be not proud._

He laid the ghostly roses across the epitaphs. Those paltry words were not worthy enough of the people they described, not loud enough to tune out the gunshots, the pearl necklace. More than twenty years ago, and he could still see his mother's necklace breaking. Pearls splashing into the dank sewage of the alleys.

Bruce knelt by the final placard, placing the smallest rosebud by the most recent inscription.

_Jason Todd. Do not go gentle into that good night._

The pearls splashed into flames. Flames roaring with triumph, finishing their last supper. Blinded and running and praying and searching and, at last, seeing the crumpled figure. Illuminated by the frenzied light, he lifted the bruised, bloody body.

"Master Bruce?"

Opening his eyes, the foggy visage extinguished the fire. He heard the old man's exhale of relief, straightening his suit coat, steadily approaching into the clearing of the gravesite. The hallowed ground preserved in a misty chokehold.

The master and butler stood next to each other in customary silence. The former in unreadable meditation. The latter in good manners. Alfred waited a good thirty seconds, cleared his throat, tried to sound nonchalant.

"Quite the weather we're having." Pause. "Nice coat, sir. Looks very sharp." Pause. "The nighted color makes one look slimmer, I hear."

Alfred made the tiniest cough, giving a pointed look. Clark once joked small talk was the bane of Bruce's existence. (It wasn't—Bane was another story altogether.) Though right now he knew Alfred would keep coughing and raising his eyebrow until he had a response.

"Didn't know you'd be up this early, Alfred."

"Any English butler worth his salt is always on duty. Like the U.S. postal service, only substantially more efficient."

The foggy silence returned.

"I wasn't going to bring this up sir, but knowing you dislike a full voicemail, there are several messages I must relate. One of my boring butler duties, I'm afraid. Three from Master Clark, two from Wayne Enterprises about the upcoming gala, one from Master Dick, and five from a young man who addressed me as 'dude.' "

"Do me a favor and delete the messages, will you Alfred." He could guess what they were about. Just like Clark to check up on me, he thought. The man had power beyond human imagination, but not the slightest intuition into his best friend.

"None from Diana?"

"None, sir. Though the young lady stayed all day yesterday, awaiting your return."

The tiniest of acknowledgements from Bruce. Alfred was trying to decide of the young man was disappointed or relieved to have missed her. He cleared his throat again, this time business-like.

"Now, shall I make chamomile tea sir, or something a bit more breakfast-like? Perhaps pancakes?"

"Not hungry."

"Hmmm. Ham and cheese omelet it is."

Bruce stood unmoving, that faraway fog in his eyes.

"Master Bruce? Are you all right?" The butler started. "Good heavens, your hand—it's bleeding."

"A skirmish at the docks."

"Come, we'll get you cleaned up—"

"It's nothing."

"—A nice rest and cup of tea—"

"Leave me _alone."_ The word echoed in the stillness. Alfred backed away, a tinge of hurt in his aging eyes. Bruce felt the familiar pain from somewhere deep inside his chest. Great. Something else to feel guilty for.

"I'm on a case, Alfred. Can't stay."

"Beg your pardon, you've just arrived."

"To pay respects. Nothing more."

"For goodness sake, you haven't shaved in days. When was the last time you've slept? Eaten?"

"I can take care of myself."

"That is exactly what Master Jason used to say—"

_"Jason is dead."_ The fog swallowed the gravelly reply. The flames seemed to advance from the shadows. "Have you forgotten that?"

Though soft, Alfred's next words seemed to shake Bruce's core. "No sir, I have not."

Alfred's old frame stood regarding his ward, one aged in years, the other in heartache. "Not a day goes by I do not think of his smile. Of your parents. But you. I get on my knees and thank God every day you are still here."

Bruce rubbed the temples near his eyes, refocusing his thoughts, rubbing out the flames clouding his mind. Alfred placed his hand on Bruce's broad shoulder in a paternal gesture.

"Sir, please consider Master Richard, Ms. Barbara. Have you forgotten _them?"_

"Batman couldn't stop the Joker from Jason. But maybe, just maybe he can stop this arsonist before he strikes again."

"At what cost?"

For the dark knight the answer was simple. "Whatever it takes."

Alfred gave a look that sent a chill of fear up Bruce's spine: a look of absolute pity.

"It wasn't your fault sir. That Joker maniac killed Jason. Not you."

"No." Bruce shook off the hand, an indecipherable mask devoid of emotion slipping over his face. "But I didn't save him, either."

A morning lark's call sounded, shrill and sharp. Its lost offspring called, in all hopes to be found in the foggy twilight. Alfred's attention was distracted for only a moment, but it was enough. The lone figure disappeared into the fog. Alfred was left alone beside the grave site.

Obscured by the smoky mist, a marble angel was seen stop the crypt steeple, cherubic face wet with the moisture. As if it were crying.

* * *

Linda Park didn't notice at first. Stepping through the newsroom door, she scanned the interview questions for the police chief, glancing through the stack of papers in her hand. She didn't notice the perpetually noisy newsroom quieting down, watching her every move.

A tap on her shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss Park?" The zit-faced intern asked in a nasal query. "You're needed in the front office."

"Can't, Timmy. I'm on in five."

"Mrs. Brown assigned Bob the story." Before Linda had time to whirl around in disbelief, Timmy whispered "Mrs. Brown wants to see you. Right now."

"Did she say what about?"

"Nope. But…It's _urgent_."

Terry Brown was Channel Four's respected boss. For all her time working with the station, Linda had never heard Mrs. Brown called a matter "urgent" except to either A) chew them out B) fire them or C) all of the above. The interns said her eyes glowed with omega beams. Whatever that meant.

Linda was more than worried, but cleared her throat to prove otherwise. "All right. Lead the way."

The march to the front office took forever for only twenty yards. Timmy left her at the threshold, mouthing _"Good luck!"_ before closing the heavy door. Mrs. Brown was facing the far wall, back turned to the reporter waiting in heart-beating apprehension.

"Enjoying the weather, Miss Park?"

"Of course."

"No telling how long clear skies will last."

Linda tried not to linger on the metaphorical significance of that statement as she began, "Mrs. Brown though I respect Bob as a colleague, I've been on this story since last week—"

Terry held up a hand. Linda kept silent. The unreadable chief leaned back in her creaking chair. "Remember what I said to you? After the Flash museum?"

Linda's heart was beating so fast she had to search in her memory. "You wanted me to take a break."

"And you came into work anyway, refusing to quit. I didn't think you were ready to keep going. It's not every day you're threatened by homicidal maniacs on the job-though Vicki Vale tells me Gotham is a whole 'nother ballpark. See, anyone can be a reporter. But a good one, hmm, they gotta make choices. Of what news to follow, and what to let go. . ."

Mrs. Brown extracted a manila folder from the desk drawer. Red letters stamped TERMINATION CONTRACT glared from the folder's face. _Here comes the severance package,_ thought Linda. Her short journalistic career flashed before her eyes.

Terry continued. ". . . I'm a little baffled, to be honest. You've always done good work. Consistent, keep on your toes. Still, this came as a surprise." She hefted the manila folder, reaching for a stack of papers underneath. "Darn desk needs some serious re-organization," she muttered. "Aha!"

The old boss slid a flyer across the table top, waiting for a response. Linda stared in disbelief, not understanding the significance of the brightly colored paper. Linda gripped the flyer, scanning the exclamation points and elementary-school style scribbles.

"The 'super friends?' "

"Your next assignment."

Linda was at a loss for words, still smitten with shock.

"Miss Park, while you were out investigating the fire downtown, a certain spandex-clad Central City citizen personally requested Channel Four's coverage at this charity event. Out of all the seasoned reporters I named, he only wanted one. Can you guess who that could be?"

"So—you're not firing me?"

"Not now, at least. I expect you and Marla to be on-location at the carnival all night. Interviews with attendees, rich donors, and our sister city's golden boy. Biggest story of the year, no mistakes. Any questions?"

Linda managed a reply. "Nope, none whatsoever."

"Good." The still-in-shock reporter was dismissed, walking airily to the door.

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, Mrs. Brown?"

The boss known as tough rolled up her sleeve, revealing a wrinkly tattoo: the lightning emblem of the Flash. Linda just stared. For some things, there are no words.

The chief's intimidating eyes twinkled. "Bring me an autograph, Miss Park? I'm a big fan."

* * *

Park Row Theatre. The tarnished sign hung limp against the building's entrance. The old Spaniard's walking cane _tap, tapped_ against the sidewalk slick with fog. The darn leg was acting up, and was this an appointment he couldn't be late for. He rounded the corner, all the while scanning the deserted street for any signs of scum. Always gotta be on your guard in this town.

His calloused hands shook unlocking the heavy gilt-framed doors, the handle creaking in rusty protest. The door's great jaws swung open. Dust and stagnant air invaded his lungs as he looked around, soaking in the darkness. A noise from the doorway. "Who's there?"

"Just me," came the voice.

Mr. Bazulto relaxed. "Beg your pardon, Mr. Wayne."

The prince of Gotham stepped into the corridor, the swish of his long, dark coat stirred dusty air, angry for having been disturbed. He offered a handshake to the old man. His surname, olive skin and European-styled mustache alluded to ancestry in Spain, Asturias by the crest on the mahogany walking cane; impeccable English from a high-class education and years in the states; chronic limp, an old war wound from the 70's, putting him in his late sixties or early seventies; ironed suit, starched collar and crisp mustache retained an air of professionalism; still, the waft of breath and bloodshot eyes betrayed the alcoholism. What was it he wanted to forget?

Mr. Wayne took this all in a detective's glance. "Thank you for agreeing to the appointment, Mr. Bazulto."

"In truth sir, I should be thanking you." The old man said it courteously enough, and yet with a wistful punctuation. Fumbling behind the ticket booth counters in semi-darkness, he located a small counter around the corner. "Sorry about the dark, won't be a moment." Sounds of clinking glass, the pouring of oil. "She's a unique theater, last of her kind. Built before electricity." The striking of matches. "Gotta do everything by lamplight."

"That's why I love this theater. Antique. Unique. A treasure worth preserving. As you know, Wayne Enterprises tries to preserve the city's classic architecture." A match burned out, a Spanish swear word from behind the counter. "Need a hand with that light?"

"Oh, I'll be fine. Besides, I've been burned before. Never lost the scars."

At last, the lamp ignited. The light brightened the room, at the same time deepening the shadows. Mr. Wayne continued. "Very kind of you to meet me in person for the exchange. A chance to see the theater one last time before I buy it, perhaps."

"Perhaps." The old man was gazing at the walls, shadows haunting the background. "So many memories here I can't forget."

Gunshots sounded. Pearls crashing. A child sobbing. _One too many,_ Mr. Wayne thought to himself.

The old man tap, tapped into the lobby, facing the rich Gotham guest. Took a deep breath. "Sir, how noble an endeavor to restore this theater. Truly. Dios knows she has seen better brighter days. But…" He paused. The old Spaniard turned, the oil lamp illuminating his tired face. Reminiscent of a ghost king.

Tightening his grip on the cane, the old man stood his ground. "There is something you must understand, something your secretary and lawyers over the phone did not."

Mr. Wayne tensed. At last. The information he'd been waiting for.

"Tell me."

The old Spaniard raised the lamp, limping ahead into the darkness. "It's better if I show you."

* * *

_Sorry I took forever to update-midterms and rhetoric papers took a lot of my time these past few weeks...BUT coming soon: Mr. Wayne finds out the story behind the Firefly._

_Thanks you to you all keeping up with the story so far._

_Please review. Andale pues._

_-Brightwing11_


End file.
